Gryffindors
by McGonagall's Bola
Summary: Minerva's recovering in St. Mungo's, with the support of the Boy-Who-Ended-The-War. -REWRITTEN!


"She seems to be asleep now, but you could sit by her side for a while if you like," Healer Richardson whispered, leading him into the room. "I'll come by to check up on you later. I'll have to apply the gel to Ms. McGonagall's side in about half an hour either way."

Harry nodded, waiting until the door had fallen shut again, then walking over to the edge of the bed. He quietly drew the chair against the wall nearer, and sat. He didn't say a word, yet Minerva McGonagall tiredly peeled her eyes open as her senses picked up the fact that another had come into the room like the Healers and nurses so often did to check up on her, but hadn't actually left, even though the door had gone open and fallen shut once again. "Mr. Potter," Minerva whispered, turning her head just a little aside to look at him. A smile even though nearly imperceptible came across her lips.

Harry's head immediately shot up upon hearing his name in a rather unfamiliar tone. "I thought that…" he began.

"Maybe I was asleep?" She finished, and quirked her eyebrow very Professor McGonagall-like.

"Yeah," Harry said, and a silence fell between both Gryffindors. "How are you feeling today?" Harry eventually asked, more to break that uncomfortable silence than anything else. He rather nervously wrenched his hand into the other, as his former Head of House appeared to ponder about just what to reply. Honesty was one of the things that she personally thought of great importance.

"I'll be alright, Potter," she said, though certainly less firm as she would have when teaching. Minerva's hair had been loosely pulled into a braid to flow gracefully down her spine, which was quite unlike her usual tight bun. The absence of her familiar black and emerald robes, now replaced by a sleeveless white nightgown neatly hidden from view by the covers could be seen as another large difference.

"Harry," he corrected.

"Harry," she repeated. He nodded, pondering about her reply. He hadn't actually missed the discrepancy between her reply and what would have been more convincing, 'I'm alright.' Her reply obviously said that she wasn't fine right now, and Harry hadn't missed that fact.

"How are you feeling now?" He tried once again.

She sighed, pondering about what to say to this. He wouldn't let go of it until he was eventually satisfied. That was namely something for which Harry Potter was famous – one of the many things. A Gryffindor by heart. She thought of herself then. Gryffindor. Courage. Chivalry. Honesty. "I'm a bit rough, but I'm being taken care of very well," she admitted, however, doing her best to soften it by adding that last bit. Just then, as if to prove Minerva's point, Healer Richardson announced herself with that gel she had mentioned earlier.

"Ah, you're awake," she said, and smiled, walking over to the side of the bed, and pushing aside the sheets, what appeared to be an indication for Harry to immediately jump upright.

"I er…" he began.

"Oh, dear. You don't have to go," Agatha Richardson whispered, eying him. "I'll be done in a couple of minutes. You don't have to leave the room for this if Professor McGonagall doesn't have any objections." She quietly watched the interaction between him and her patient as two totally different yet strangely alike shades of green momentarily connected. Minerva nearly imperceptibly nodded, and Harry quietly sat down again.

He thoughtfully turned his gaze down as Healer Richardson carefully helped his former Head of House to roll over onto her side, and pushed up the nightgown she wore. From the corner of his eyes he couldn't do anything but catch a peek of the very painfully looking bluish bruise that appeared to stretch across Minerva McGonagall's whole right side.

As Agatha Richardson cautiously began massaging the gel into the professor's side, Minerva's hand nearly immediately tightened around the edge of the mattress, fingers curled around it so badly her knuckles turned white. Harry with hesitance reached for her hand with his, covering it. Two shades of green momentarily connected once again. The Healer drew nearer to the more painful areas of the bruise, and Minerva intuitively squeezed her eyes shut, and turned her hand to hold onto Harry's hard.

Minerva would usually wince when this had to happen three times a day, but today she appeared to be doing everything that was in her power not to allow her visitor any sign of just how much discomfort she experienced. She could feel the pad of a thumb running calmingly across her knuckles, and much sooner than she would have anticipated, Agatha already announced the end of the routine, pulling Minerva's white nightgown down again, and raising the covers high enough. She cautiously aided Minerva in rolling onto her back again, announcing that dinner would arrive in an hour, then leaving.

Minerva's gaze quietly travelled to their still entwined hands, letting go. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"That's alright," Harry replied, and gave her a smile. "I really should be going, though. I'm having dinner with the Weasleys, and I have told Mrs. Weasley I would be on time."

Minerva nodded. "Will you…?" She began, unable to refrain herself from asking. Loneliness overwhelmed her often.

"If you would like me to, I'll come by again later this week."

Minerva nodded. "I would like that very much," she admitted. She didn't really like admitting the fact that she absolutely hated being there, but it didn't make it any less true… Harry politely smiled, getting up, raising her hand to his lips, and leaving a kiss upon it. She smiled, trying to raise herself to kiss his cheek, but failing. "Oh, come here," she eventually muttered more to herself than anyone else. Harry easily leaned in enough for her to leave a kiss upon his cheek, right beside his mouth. The both of them lingered just a bit longer than required.

"Please get well very soon," Harry whispered.


End file.
